I have been in stores and in homes that have the most beautiful Christmas trees. You know the ones that have all the matching balls, the garland is draped perfectly along the branches, and snow is layered here and there giving you a feeling of joyous tranquility.
For many years I dreamed of having just such a tree. Having children my tree was never tranquil it was a combination of craft stick stars, Styrofoam balls with half the glitter gone, cork board gingerbread men, paper chains and assorted old cracked ornaments.
Some years these trees had most of the ornaments on the lower branches, some years the fake snow was so thick it looked like a blizzard had come and gone and we were still tracking the stuff a week or so after the tree came down. It was to put it simply a chaotic blending of almost a dozen personalities.
It is what people know as the family Christmas tree. It is the tree that never appears in the Currier and Ives photos, nor the Good Housekeeping magazines. You won’t see this tree in the homes of the Rich and Famous nor decorating the set of Oprah. Yet it is a part of the American Heritage, a part of our traditions and the very thing that makes Christmas come alive for most families.
From our earliest colonial times, our Christmas trees have played a large part in family celebrations, it has been the focal point of holiday pictures, and the opening of presents. It is the first Christmas decoration our children urge us to put up and the last that we take down.
Last year was my first completely childless Christmas. My children all were busy with their own lives and though they called and sent cards and even gifts they were not home for Christmas.
Since it was just my husband and I we decided to put up a small tree and decorate it the way we wanted. Leaving all the old ornaments in a box I bought several beautiful bright red Cardinals, white bows and tiny lights. We spent an evening arranging and rearranging our tree. It was beautiful but seemed to lack something. My husband agreed, but neither of us could think of anything else to add.
As December wore on I would look at the tree often and each time I felt a coldness about it. A lifelessness that I couldn’t quite define. Then one night over dinner, my husband finally spoke up.
“It’s too perfect.”
“What?” I asked listlessly pushing my food around on my plate. “What is too perfect?”
“The tree. It is simply too perfect.” He pushed his plate aside and left the table leaving me to follow to see what he was up too. What he was up to was the attic. “Here.” he grunted and handed me a box.
I barely had time to set it aside before he handed down another. Ten minutes later the tree was stripped of all the beautiful Cardinals and white bows. An hour later it was redecorated with Styrofoam balls, craft stick stars, and other homemade ornaments. We looked at the tree and each other and smiled.
Now our tree was perfect.
Our children may have been physically gone from our home, but they were there in spirit in the memories of Christmases past. They will always be a part of our lives and there through the memories inspired by the family Christmas tree.
Oddly enough, during a New Years conversation one of my son’s mentioned his Christmas tree. He talked about it’s beauty and how nice it looked sitting in his living room. He then mentioned that as pretty as it was, it lacked the beauty of our Christmas trees at home. “I wish I knew why they were always so great.” he said.
A week later he called again. “That package you sent, mom.” he paused before continuing “That was exactly what our tree needed.”
You see, I had sent him a tiny tinfoil covered star he had made in first grade, a clothes pin reindeer from a home craft project when he was 8 or 9 and a few styrofoam balls rolled in aging glitter. Someday he will start his own family and when he is my age he too will look back on that chaotic, messy Christmas tree with love and with pride.
